Grandpa loved to plant trees all his life

□ Gao Honglie

In my memory, there was a grove of trees in the ditch, trees and grass were growing crazy, and flocks of pheasants were rattling all day long. The willow trees in the middle ditch grew particularly lush and lush, like a green cloud falling on the loess ravine. At that time, it was a big group, and in the autumn, the peppercorns, onions, garlic, carrots, and rhubarb in the forest had to sell for a lot of money. Later, every house pulled electricity, and the stout willow stump became an electric pole. My grandfather was the captain of the production team, planting trees and protecting trees, and naturally he had his credit.

Most of the farmers in the mountains of northwestern Ding live in the caves dug in Yawan and in the caves of the earthen hoops. After the implementation of the land contract, my grandfather thought of building a few rooms to improve the living conditions. Why not have the money? Grandpa began planting poplar trees. Grandpa said that in the spring, the poplar branches that were chopped into a foot long finger thickness were inserted, as long as there was water, they could live and grow fast. He chose the place in the arable land under Zhuangzi where water could be put on. When the spring breeze blew, Grandpa couldn't wait to plant hundreds of poplar trees. The poplar tree sprouted and branched, jumped to about a meter in a year, and grew into a green wall on the yellow earth, and the emerald green and tender leaves sang in the wind. Grandpa was heartbroken, sweating like rain, changing the water, fertilizing, pruning under the poplar tree, stroking the straight trunk with his calloused hands, as if stroking my head, and a happy smile rippled on his face. Within a few years, poplar trees had grown into rafters with thick arms. Grandpa built a few adobe houses out of these poplar rafters, and we moved out of the caves.

Grandpa was not idle for a moment, so bitter that he hunched his back and prostrated himself. Grandpa, like Guo Qihu, loved to plant trees all his life, and would plant trees, and the front and back of the house were planted with elm trees, willows, peach trees, tsubaki trees and almond trees, and various trees were also planted on the roadside, in the collapsed cave circle, and in the bay of Shanzui Mountain. Passers-by pick an apricot in the summer to quench their thirst and sit in the shade of a tree to cool off. My house is hidden in a field of trees, cooking smoke, chickens and dogs barking, and the days are moist and solid. Grandpa specially bought a long-handled axe and tree scissors, and the branches that were usually trimmed were piled up like mountains, and there was no need to worry about burning matches in winter. One of the words he often hangs on his lips is that if you don't plant trees, you won't even come to a bird. He also took aim at the graveyard of the old ancestors, sneaking a screw on the point, some of which covered the grave head, even people could not enter, some were cut down, and also suffered a number of falls, because the root system of the lemon strip was developed, it could drill through the coffin, and the superstitious saying was that the root passed through what part of the old ancestor, and the living relatives were in pain.

Not far from my home, in the kiln mouth, Grandpa based on the wasteland, reclaimed a flat orchard, all planted grafted pear trees, what peeled pear, early crisp pear, long bar pear, apple pear, we are all called sour fruit. In late autumn, the orchards are filled with fragrance. Probably because things are scarce and expensive, there are always thefts in orchards, not only looting the fruits, but also breaking the fruit trees and ripping the garden walls open. Grandpa dug a hole in the cliff on the edge of the orchard, laid wheatgrass, and slept inside to guard the orchard around the Mid-Autumn Festival when the fruit was ripe. I also used to sleep with my grandfather in a small cave, breathing in the intoxicating fruit aroma, and seeing the most beautiful night sky and stars in my life.

Grandpa has been away from us for three years, but the needle pestle and the miscellaneous tree he planted on the edge of the Ridgehead Are still there. Magpies built a large nest on the top of the tallest willow tree branch, chirping and calling. In the summer, this forest is like a piece of green brocade left in the mountains, and in winter, it is dark and green, and it can be seen for miles away, and people passing by are even more praised. People say that if it were not for this forest planted by Grandpa, the mountain beams on the edge of the Seven Ridges would definitely be broken by the mountains and rivers, and a large cave circle would be opened. This forest, like a green monument towering over a mountain beam, silently tells the story of Grandpa planting trees and loving trees.

Grandpa was buried under the forest. On Grandpa's death day this year, I planted two small green pine trees in his graveyard.

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